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THE ALIQUIAN series, Book 1 Trailer

Poem written and narrated by Mary Coe

Finally, the mare is bridled for me,

and as I mount her,

my foot slips in the stirrups.

I feel as an imposter.

I’ve never ridden a horse,

let alone one of such sacred majesty,

pure as snow.

—a kind of white-wash clean

that these dirtied, calloused hands

have yet to ever know.

I settle on my saddle,

and I let my eyes roam

across the expanse

of this great land; greens fading into gold.

The allure of this valley is bold,


I just wish I could see myself in the same light.

Though surrounded by soldiers,

folks from this region recruited to fight in my name,

I’m all alone,

trapped inside this murky mind

with my fickle power always lurking behind

every corner.

This monster of mine,

that sparks and flames beneath my ribs,

twitchy and glitchy,

impossible to learn or control,

somehow connects me to an artistry

that’s always lived deep within.

How I wish I could escape into a painting, right about now.

I’d draw out time with a line on canvas.

Belief, he speaks

is the key to my fate.

My only weapon in this provoked attack.

But how does a servant girl

master the fine-art of self worth

after years and years spent picking at the dirt?

The journey that awaits us

has knotted my stomach into a ball so tight

that I think I might concave

beneath the weight

of the armor

that’s beginning to pinch at my sides.

I close my eyes.

I can’t remember the date.

Since my time at the estate,

the days have bled together.

I try to find the rhythm of this mare’s gate.

and I can smell the faintest seasonal change

beginning to turn in the air; crisp and fair.

But then I tense

as a bitter gust from the north

introduces itself to me.

The sprawling mountain range

and the frozen lands beyond,

will surely snuff out my inferno heat.

After all the destruction I’ve left behind

I just might let it.

A shimmer of light suddenly emerges on the horizon.

There is a city nearby,

rumored to be named after a long-dead socialite,

As the battalion leaves the valley,

I envision what it might be like

to freely roam the streets of a place so breathtaking.

I’ve heard it glistens at twilight.

And the carriages roll in a curved line like a sparkling necklace

across the widening shoreline.

This, I remind myself, is what I’m fighting for,

For freedom.

For a chance at life.

For a people who wallow in mud

and toil hours every day

in strife.

My people. My region. My land.

And the switch of fire inside me,

uncontrollable at every other time,

suddenly ignites.

It is my right, this power.

It is my sword. My rifle in the night.

He falls back to match my speed, trotting on his steed,

and he’s already smiling in that knowing way of his.

Sensing into my frame of mind,

he asks me a simple question.

“Are you alright?”

And I don’t need to answer.

I decide instead to just enjoy this first ride.


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